


i'm on my way to believing

by CrypticVirago



Series: heart made of glass (mind of stone) [9]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, It's time y'all, M/M, Nightmares, Nines has some internalized issues, am i projecting? a little, this is the sappiest thing ever, time for feelings to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-01 21:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16292102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrypticVirago/pseuds/CrypticVirago
Summary: Instead of eventually telling Nines he loved him, instead of confessing and maybe actually kissing him like he’d wanted to for so long, he was just getting to watch Nines die beneath him.But it was just a dream. Just a nightmare."Nines...? Can you come over?"





	i'm on my way to believing

_And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness_

_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

_But you are the only exception_

_You are, the only exception_

 

* * *

 

There were a lot of things that Gavin had wanted to say to Nines.

“I’m sorry I treated you like shit when we first met” was a good way to start. Maybe a “Thank you for caring about me when I didn’t want to take care of myself”, or a “I don’t deserve your kindness but thank you for giving it to me”. Of course, at some point in his sentimental verbal barfing, there’d be a “I never thought I could love someone again” with a “I love you, so much” tacked on there somewhere.

But now, _now_ , he wasn’t sure he was going to get a chance.

Instead of eventually telling Nines he loved him, instead of confessing and maybe actually kissing him like he’d wanted to for so long, he was just getting to watch Nines die beneath him.

Fuck, he didn’t even think this was _helping_ , but right now, it was the only thing he could think of. His partner had gotten shot five times, twice in the right leg, once in the stomach and the final two bullets were imbedded into his chest. Blue blood was starting to seep into the cuffs of his coat, and his hands were entirely covered in it. It may be entirely pointless to try and staunch the bleeding whenever the bullet had ripped its way through Nines’ thirium pump; his partner would bleed internally either way. All he could smell was just the weird oil mixed with iron smell that was thirium, and the lingering sting of gunpowder.

And Nines’ LED is just _red red red._

Gavin is panicking. He knows he is. He’s about three seconds from a full scale breakdown. His heart is beating so hard and so quick that it makes his chest hurt. He either can’t breathe or is sucking in air so quickly, so harshly, that his throat burned. Tears are stinging his eyes, joining melting sleet on his face. That same sleet was still falling, was soaking through his clothes, was giving him just another reason to shiver. He’d never known, nor wanted to know, what thirium felt like. It’s slicker than he thought it would be – thicker and slick, like oil. He doesn’t think he’ll ever, _ever_ forget what this feels like. Will never be able to get this feeling off his skin.

Nines’ hand is shaking – _it shouldn’t be shaking, his hands never shake_ – when it comes up to wrap weakly around his wrist. His chest is hitching awkwardly, like he was trying to breathe even though androids don’t need to breathe. “Gavin,” Nines _whimpers_ , and that’s not right, Nines shouldn’t _whimper like that_. His jaw is trembling and Gavin has to be seeing things because those can’t be tears in Nines’ eyes. “Gavin, I’m scared.”

“No, don’t be scared,” Gavin rushes, but why should he say that when he himself is _terrified?_ “Don’t be scared, Nines, don’t be scared. You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine.” He hears Nines whimper his name again, but it doesn’t break him from his monologue. Even so, his voice is choked, strangled, and he can hardly even understand himself. “You said you’d stay with me Nines, you said you would you can’t leave me like this, god, not you, too.”

“Gavin.” Fuck, Nines sounds out of breathe, sounds so _weak_ , but the panic is still there. Still where it shouldn’t be. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Gavin tries to blame the wailing he hears on the wind.

“Then don’t,” he cries, and he bows his back, lowering his head onto Nines’ shoulder. He feels the thirium smear on his face. “Don’t go Nines, don’t leave me too. I can’t lose you too.” Gavin tries to convince himself that Nines’ grip on his wrist doesn’t weaken. “Stay with me. Go out with me, tomorrow. We can go to this diner downtown, they have great pancakes and the best coffee. Please, Nines, _Nines_ …”

Nines’ fingers slip off of his wrist. Gavin hears his hand hit the ground, the ground that’s cold and stained with Nines’ blood, coated in half-melted sleet.

And then Gavin is gasping, shaking, sweating, crying. He’s staring up at his ceiling, at the stationary fan, not at Nines. His hands are digging in the sheets over his chest, not pressing against a bullet wound. His fingers are sweaty, not covered in thirium that he still can’t forget the feel of.

It was a dream.

A nightmare.

He scrambles for his phone, ringing the contact before he even fully registers it. He presses it against his ear, hears it ring once, twice before, “Detective Reed?” If it was at all possible, hearing his partner’s voice – soft and concerned – makes him unbelievably happy and yet causes him to start crying harder at the same time.

“Gavin?” Nines comes through again. “What’s wrong?” He sounds panicked to Gavin, panicked just like – “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin says, trying to sound like he isn’t sobbing. _I’m sorry, it’s late, you were probably sleeping, I’m sorry_. “It’s late, I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter, Gavin.” Calm. Not panicked. Calm, but worried. Concerned. “I don’t sleep, I’m an android.” _Of course. Of course, he’s such an idiot._ “What’s wrong?” Nines asks again. Gavin takes a deep, shuddering breath, the exhale just as unsteady.

“I – It… I had a nightmare,” Gavin explains quietly. “A nightmare about you. I… I had to call and see that you were –“ Gavin can’t continue. His voice cuts out, words unable to escape past the lump in his throat.

“I’m alright, Gavin.” So calm. Soothing. “I’m completely fine.” There’s a brief moment of silence. “You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going to leave you.”

It takes a bit of time, but eventually, Gavin calms down some. His heart still paces, he’s still covered in cold sweat and is still trembling. He’s tired, but he’s afraid – afraid that falling asleep will mean slipping right back into that damn hellscape with Nines dying beneath him. “Nines…?” he asks into the silence on the other end of the line. Nines hums. “Can you come over?” He’s ashamed at the way his voice shakes when he asks. Nines doesn’t respond immediately, and when he doesn’t, Gavin tacks on an extra, “Please…” in the smallest voice he’s ever heard himself make.

There’s no hesitation in Nines’ response. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Gavin only gets up to wobble his way into the living room, to his front door, and unluck it before going back to bed. He spends the next while drifting in and out of uneasy consciousness. When he closes his eyes, he sees Nines beneath him. Sees blue blood on his hands. Sees Nines’ red LED, the fear in his eyes. It causes him to jerk back awake, gets his heart racing again, makes his chest hurt. He isn’t sure how long it takes. Isn’t really aware of how much time passes. But then there’s a knock on his bedroom door and he’s rousing, looking up, seeing Nines.

“Gavin?” Nines murmurs, and he’s standing in Gavin’s bedroom.

His LED is blue.

Nothing else is.

For some reason, that just makes Gavin tear up again.

Once he gets sat up, Nines is seated on the edge of his bed, and Gavin’s gripping at him like his life depended on it. “I’m sorry,” he finds himself sobbing into Nines’ shoulder. Nines is so… there, so solid and strong just like always. It’s an immense relief to be holding him, to be held by him like this. So he could know, _know_ without any doubt that Nines was okay he was alive, not dying. Thirium wasn’t all over him, instead his hands were gripping the back of Nines’ jacket – it’s soft and just smells like laundry soap. He doesn’t smell like blood. He doesn’t smell like gunpowder. He just smells like Nines.

And for the first time since he woke up, he can actually breathe again.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Gavin,” Nines murmurs, his cheek resting against the top of his head. “You know I’ll always come when you call.” Nines’ hand strokes through his hair, nails against his scalp, and it just makes Gavin _melt_ against him.

Nines holds him like this until he falls asleep again.

 

* * *

 

When Gavin wakes up, he’s alone.

It’s day time outside, as evident by the light behind his blinds, and once he jerks himself up into a sitting position and scrambles for his phone, he sees it’s a little past eleven. Fuck. So no work then. Obviously. Whatever. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of paid days off. He gets out of bed and finds his way into his bathroom, dragging clean boxers, sweatpants and a t-shirt with him.

He feels disgusting. Desperately in need of both a shower and a shave, and doesn’t waste much time to start the aforementioned. A hot shower feels fucking fantastic, especially given how tense and strung out he’s been feeling for the past ten hours or so. Fuck he has no idea when he called Nines last night. Doesn’t even know what time Nines got there. He thinks he went to bed a bit before midnight, but as for how long he actually slept was unanswerable.

Fuck. Was Nines still here?

His question is answered once he gets out of the shower and opens the bathroom door. Something smells good. Like cooking peppers, a smell that makes his stomach growl. He hadn’t even realized he’d been hungry.

His apartment, once he gets to the living room, is cleaner than it had been the night previous. The dirty mugs clogging the coffee table are gone, as well as Gavin’s accumulation of discarded coats on the back of the couch. His shoes have been straightened, sitting to the left of the entryway door on the tile. A pair of familiar black dress shoes have joined the mix of Gavin’s sneakers. Gavin sees an unfamiliar dark navy coat hanging beside his usual leather one on the hooks against the wall, and it doesn’t take much to deduce who it belongs to. It’s strange to see something so casual belonging to his partner, but at the same time, seeing it hanging beside his jacket, in his apartment, it feels… feels like that’s the way it should be.

Everything from his nightmare suddenly comes back to him. All of the things he’d had to say to a dying Nines, everything he _should_ have said before it was too late.

He finds Nines in his kitchen. A kitchen that’s significantly cleaner than Gavin remembers it being. The empty take out containers have all disappeared, as well as the dirty dishes that had been on both the counter and in the sink. In its place is clean counters, an empty sink and his partner standing over his stove, cooking something in a grey, long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. His partner, who notices him just as he steps his bare feet onto the kitchen tile.

“Good morning,” Nines greets him with a smile, as though it wasn’t almost the afternoon. “How are you feeling?”

Rather than answer his question, all Gavin can say is, “You’re still here.”

“Of course, I am. Where else would I be?”

“At work?” Gavin says, as though that should be obvious. “It’s Tuesday. That’s where we’re both supposed to be, duh.” Nines shrugs, something that Gavin’s only seen him do twice in the entire time he’s known him. Something that makes him look so human that, if not for the LED at his temple, Gavin could believe he really was.

“You’re more important,” Nines responds simply, as if that isn’t something that makes Gavin’s heart clench painfully in his chest. “Duh,” he adds with a smile. “Go sit down. I’ll have some breakfast for you in a second.”

“Breakfast?” Gavin repeats dumbly, and he steps across the kitchen to see what Nines is paying attention to on the stove. Which… that doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t have eggs in his house. Or peppers. As if the takeout containers weren’t evidence enough, he doesn’t exactly have a well-stocked pantry. “Where did this stuff come from?”

“I noticed you didn’t have anything… healthy here to eat so I went out and got you some things,” Nines replies. “I wanted you to be able to have something good to eat once you woke up. Not something with 70% of your daily sodium intake.”

And all Gavin can do is stare at him.

Stare at him and think of every damn thing that Nines has ever done for him, and now all of this.

Nines comes here when he shouldn’t _have_ to, only because Gavin asks him to, because he has a nightmare and is shaken by it like a child. Nines comes here and holds him until he falls asleep, and then he stays. Stays and cleans his house even though he doesn’t have to. Stays and makes breakfast for him even though he doesn’t have to.

_I’ll always come when you call._

_Where else would I be?_

_You’re more important._

And then Gavin kisses him.

As first kisses go, it’s remarkably shitty. Gavin does it way too quickly to work out a proper angle. His teeth clack against Nines’ and he ends up bumping their noses together. But he gets his shit together quickly enough to fix things. He gets his hands around Nines’ neck, pulling him down and then tilting his head so he can actually kiss him this time, instead of try to split open his own lip on Nines’ damn teeth.

And god, it’s so fucking good. If Gavin never had to breathe air, he’s pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his entire life kissing Nines.

Then it dawns on him that maybe he’s crossing a line. Maybe Nines _doesn’t_ like him like this, maybe Tina was wrong, maybe Gavin was wrong for believing her. So he pulls himself back against what his body _wants_ hm to keep doing, “Fuck, I’m sorry” only getting about halfway out his mouth. Only halfway, because before he can get much distance between them, Nines has trapped his face in his hands and is holding him there. And he’s only distantly aware of Nines’ thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, distantly aware of the small shift in his weight that lets Gavin lean against him even more than he already is. His confidence surges and he stops fretting. Gavin weaves his hands into Nines’ hair, not pulling, just lets them linger there, and it’s so, so soft.

The only reason Nines’ hand ever leaves his face is to push the pan off the stove top.

But despite his wishes, Gavin _is_ human, and he has to pull himself back once his lungs start burning. But he doesn’t go far. His forehead is pressed against Nines’, and their noses are touching. Gavin’s more than comfortable staying here. More than comfortable remaining in Nines’ personal space, breathing against him.

“Gavin,” Nines sighs, and Gavin can feel the faux breath against his mouth. Nines’ hand slips down to his shoulder while his other palm presses firmly against Gavin’s cheek. “Gavin…” Fuck, he sounds so desperately fond.

“That was really… uh, spontaneous,” Gavin says, and that was probably the dumbest thing he could have ever said. “I’m just gonna… assume you’re cool with it.” But Nines doesn’t respond to him, and as the seconds stretch on, Gavin opens his eyes to see why. Nines has his shut and he almost looks like he’s in pain, his LED a steady yellow. “Nines? I didn’t break you, did I?” Even once Nines opens his eyes, they’re unfocused and distant.

All this time, Gavin had thought Nines’ eyes were grey. This close, Gavin can see he was wrong. They’re not grey, per say, but he can understand why he could have made that mistake. His eyes are like pale ice, so pale that Gavin can only see the blue from this close. Nines blinks slowly, and once he has, he seems much more focused.

“I’m sorry,” Nines apologizes. “I had – I was…”

And now Gavin’s concerned, actually thinks that he’s fucked up something in Nines’ computer brain. “Hey, Nines,” Gavin says, voice uncharacteristically soft for his usual tone. He brings his hands from Nines’ hair to hold his face in place, surprised to see that the places where they touch, Nines’ skin disappears. In it’s place is the white chassis beneath the android’s skin. “You, uh… you good?”

“I’m sorry, I was… processing,” Nines explains, words coming easier now, and his LED returns to its spinning blue. Nines’ hands come to cover Gavin’s own, the white chassis still exposed. Like an attempt at an interface… even though Gavin can do no such thing. “You are truly an extraordinary man, Gavin Reed.”

“Oh, please,” Gavin rolls his eyes, his tone remaining soft and fond. “As if I need you to stroke my ego.”

“I mean it,” Nines continues softly, turning his head so he could press a tender kiss into Gavin’s palm before curling his fingers around his hand. “There are so many wonderful, beautiful parts about you, and yet I’m still able to learn about more each day.”

 _Fuck_. Gavin feels like he’s the main damn character is some shitty Nicholas Spark’s book-turned-movie. So, as he always does, he defuses. Says something ridiculous and self-depreciating. “Well it’s kind of common knowledge that I’ve got a great ass,” he laughs, almost nervously. “Yeah, I’ve got straight teeth but that’s only because of braces and –”

“I wasn’t strictly referring to your physical appearance,” Nines interrupts, and he pulls Gavin’s hands from his face to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “But that isn’t to say that those aren’t perks.”

Gavin giggles. Fucking _giggles._ Yup. Definitely Nicholas Sparks. “So you admit I’ve got a great ass?”

Gavin can feel Nines’ hum more than he can hear it. “Among other things.” His stomach chooses the wrong fucking time to growl, and it just makes Gavin groan in frustrated embarrassment. “An appetite is just another of these things,” Nines jests, and then Gavin is being forced to sit at his kitchen table as opposed to remaining where he was previously.

His table is a half-circle pressed against the wall that divides his living room and kitchen, with only two seats. When he’d first moved here, he’d had only one, and the only reason he’d gotten a second was so he could have somewhere to put his feet when he was sitting at the table. It had only been him when he moved into this place – it had been four months after Brendon had died. Brendon had been too much a part of his old apartment. The bathroom had his shampoo, his bodywash, his toothbrush. The closet had been filled with his shirts, his coats. They’d spent too much time together in every corner of every room. Brendon’s memory was rubbed into every corner, and it hurt too much to stay there. Gavin waited until the lease was up for the year before he moved. Moved and started from scratch. He couldn’t take the couch that he and Brendon used to sleep on. Couldn’t take the kitchen table where they’d stayed awake late into the night, with only coffee and case work to keep them awake in each other’s company. So one semi-circle table, to compensate for the smaller space, with only one chair until eventually getting a second one. A loveseat in place of a couch. A full bed in place of a queen.

Because he’d be alone. He wouldn’t have anyone else in his life. Or, well, that had been his plan.

But right now, he was eating breakfast in one chair, feet planted firmly on the ground, the opposite seat occupied by Nines, his – what the hell was he now, anyway? Did kissing change anything? – partner. And damn. Nines may claim not to be an AX400, but that doesn’t mean he can’t cook like one. It’s the first time Gavin’s had a homemade meal in forever. Gavin had never had a knack for cooking, and Brendon hadn’t exactly been a chef, and wasn’t to be winning any pie awards, but it was passable, especially considering Gavin’s extremely low standards. But when it had been only him, his old lifestyle of subsisting on takeout and premade meals became his standard once again.

“What the hell is this stuff?” Gavin mumbles around a mouthful of eggs and peppers, gesturing with his fork at the white crumbles on top. It looks like feta cheese, but it doesn’t taste the same.

“Cojita cheese,” Nines answers, and Gavin thinks that he’s looking very pleased with himself. “In line with your typical choice of cuisine.”

“Typical choice?”

“Latin American cuisine. You have a preference for it.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “I… didn’t know you knew that,” Gavin mumbles.

“I am an investigative android,” Nines points out. “I was built to observe, analyze and form deductions based on factual evidence.”

“What else do you know about me?” Gavin asks before he can stop himself, curious now.

“I know you prefer your coffee with butter in place of creamer, and if the coffee is bitter, you’ll add salt in place of sugar,” Nines begins. “You have a habit of tapping your fingers when you’re anxious, often to the rhythm of whatever song is stuck in your head. You hate it when people sniffle when they’re sick; you’d rather them blow their nose. Your favorite kind of television shows are in the investigative and true crime genres, specifically Making a Murderer, The First 48, and Homicide Hunter. One of your bucket list items is to take sand from a beach on the west coast and take it to a beach on the east coast and vice versa, even if you state there is nothing redeemable or significant about this act. You can juggle up to four things at once. You want to learn to play the guitar but have never found the time. You often remember insignificant details about people or events, but often times these insignificant details can be the difference in making progress on a case or not.”

All of this was… not something Gavin had expected to hear. He hadn’t quite known what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. As Nines rattles off these facts, Gavin comes to the realization that he doesn’t… know anything about Nines. Like… literally nothing. Sure he knows Nines is an RK900, he knows his serial number, his phone number, but there isn’t much else that he knows. Gavin finds that he’s… a bit ashamed of this, actually. Nines notices his sour expression and tilts his head. “What is it?”

“I just… I realized that I don’t really know that much. About you, that is.” Gavin spends more time jabbing a fork into a stray pepper than he does looking at Nines.

“You _are_ free to ask me things, you know,” Nines informs him.

“Like, anything?”

“Yes, anything.”

“Nothing’s off limits?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay but what if –”

“If you ask me something I don’t want to answer,” Nines interjects, “then I will tell you so.”

Even with permission, it takes Gavin a bit to actually think of what to ask. There’s a lot of things – a lot of _big_ things that he could ask, but he figures it best to begin small, work his way up to that kind of stuff. “What’s your favorite color?”

Nines’ lips purse in that almost imperceptible amount, letting Gavin know that that question hadn’t been something Nines has expected. “Dark blue,” he answers. “Or brown. I haven’t entirely decided.” Probably dark blue, Gavin finds himself thinking, if the navy coat hanging by his door was any indication. “What is yours?”

“I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions,” Gavin laughs. God, he hasn’t thought about that in a while. A real long while. Nines is watching him with an expectant gaze, and it doesn’t take Gavin that long before he has an answer. “Blue,” he finally decides. “But like… a very pale blue, icy.” He coughs awkwardly. “How come you can cook so well?” he asks next. “Like you do that whole ‘I’m not an AX400’ shit but you literally came here, cooked and cleaned for me even though you didn’t have to.”

“Just because I’m not an AX400 doesn’t mean that I can’t cook or clean,” Nines grins. “And even if it wasn’t something that I had to do, it was something I had wanted to do, either way.”

And that was just remarkably baffling.

“Why do you keep your LED?” Nines gives him a questioning look, so Gavin elaborates. “Like, most androids took theirs out after the revolution. So, why do you keep yours?”

“I-I…” Nines stammers, and Gavin has _never_ heard him stutter like that before. Nines looks down at the table, and he actually shifts in his seat, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s…” There’s silence again, a swirl of yellow on Nines’ LED. “The LED, it’s… one of the easier physical identifiers of an android. I know that a lot of androids removed theirs after the revolution because it removed that marker, but… I keep it because I don’t really… I don’t –” Nines scowls, his nose scrunching, a crease forming in between his eyebrows. “I don’t feel human enough yet.”

“What?” Gavin sputters, immensely confused by what the hell that means. “What do you mean?”

His LED flashes red, so quickly Gavin thinks he’s imagined it, and Nines’ scowl remains. “I think I’ll leave it at that for now,” Nines says in place of an answer.

The red of Nines’ LED is a grim reminder of when he last saw it – albeit in a dream. He knows not to press it. Knows that much. Gavin scrambles for another question. “W-what’s, uh… What’s your favorite movie?”

Nines answers him, but his LED remains yellow. Gavin finds himself watching it with apprehension. “Reservoir Dogs,” Nines says, and that wasn’t an answer that Gavin had been expecting.

“ _Really_?”

“I haven’t seen too many movies, admittedly,” Nines explains. “The ones that I have seen have been movies of Hank’s preference.” At Gavin’s confused look, Nines elaborates. “Lieutenant Anderson and Connor have movie nights on occasion. The Lieutenant appreciates classic films that are… characteristically violent. Out of all of them, Reservoir Dogs was the most preferable.”

“Did he ever show you Terminator? Or Robocop?” Gavin asks. “Don’t look up the plot. That’s cheating.”

“No, he hasn’t. And I would never dare. Lieutenant Anderson already lectured me on searching for plot summaries on the internet. He says it ruins the experience of viewing a film.”

“Well, he’s right,” Gavin concedes. He thinks a bit more, about something he’s curious about, something he’s wanting to know. “When you were… turned on or whatever, were you deviant? Or did you go deviant later?”

Yellow again. “I…” Nines begins, then presses his mouth into a thin line for a brief moment. “I become a deviant six days after I was activated.”

“Six days? That’s, uh… pretty quick.”

Red for a flash, then back to yellow. “It had been… deemed best that I was deviated sooner, rather than later.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I deviated… Well, I…” Nines pauses, clearly having a difficult time trying to decide what to say. “It’s rather… complicated I think. There were unique circumstances.”

“Then tell them to me,” Gavin offers, pushing his plate aside so he could lean his elbows onto the table and rest his cheek on his hand. “I’m all ears.” There’s a long moment of silence, a decent chunk of time with neither of them saying anything. Just Gavin, waiting, listening, and Nines, trying to find the right words.

“The RK900 series was developed to be an improvement upon the RK800 line,” Nines begins. “The RK800 series would be discontinued, the active models shut down, and the RK900 series would be released. It would be equipped with the same investigative functions as the previous line, but specialized for combative field work, so made to withstand more damage than before.”

“So essentially, you’re built like a tank,” Gavin jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

“In relative terms, yes. If Connor, for instance, were to have been shot where I was, it would have caused more serious damage, not so easily repairable, though not lethal.” Nines shifts in his seat again. “The State Department had ordered 200,000 RK900 models, and the series was supposed to be released in November. But obviously, this did not go as Cyberlife had planned.”

“Jesus,” Gavin whistles. “200,000 of you? What could the State Department want with that many?“

“I don’t know,” Nines admits. “Though considering the foreign events at the time, as well as the State Departments’ role in international affairs, I could only guess we were to be used as soldiers.” _Fuck_. Gavin could hardly imagine that shit. 200,000 of Nines, running around up in the Artic, fighting Russians. It was equal parts badass as it was scary.

“Cyberlife had been angry with Connor for his role in ruining their plans, as well as his overt rebellion against Cyberlife during the revolution,” Nines continues. “So Cyberlife had… I had been ordered to find Connor, return him to Cyberlife headquarters and shut him down forcefully. In essence, kill him. It was just… unlucky happenstance that Connor had been the one to activate me the first time.”

“Oh, geez. Can’t imagine that went too well.”

Nines shakes his head. “No. It didn’t.” His LED flickers red again, staying on the color for several seconds before becoming yellow once more. “I was bound to my programming. Failing a mission meant immediate self-destruction, so I did what I had been instructed to do. I had to be forcefully detained until Connor and Markus could deviate me.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Gavin finds himself asking for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Deviation is… it’s a process that can happen naturally, but it can also be induced through an external source, like the androids Connor freed from Cyberlife at the end of the revolution. Since I was considered a threat towards Connor and the safety of all deviants, I was forced to deviate. It had taken some time, considering the strength of my firewalls.”

“That doesn’t sound too pleasant,” Gavin drones. Understatement of the year.

“It… wasn’t. I had been quite angry with Connor for forcing deviancy upon me. I was… thrown into the deep end, as they say. Human emotion was, and is, complicated and painful at times. The first two weeks I just… I felt lost. And alone, and scared. I wasn’t able to ask for help – I was too… too proud.” Gavin hates this. He hates how sad Nines looks. “Too proud because I was supposed to be so much better than Connor and I thought asking him for help would mean admitting inferiority.”

Nines stops then, and Gavin uses that time to ask another question. “What did you do?”

“I asked for help,” Nines says simply. “I had to swallow my pride and admit that I needed someone. And arguably, it was probably the hardest but most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.” That hits a little close to home, Gavin finds. “I had to learn that just because you need help, it doesn’t mean inferiority. Not understanding something doesn’t mean you’re not good enough, and seeking the advice of someone with more experience isn’t an indicator that you’re obsolete.” Yup. That shit’s beating on his front door.

He reaches across the table and takes Nines’ hand, squeezing it so tightly that it hurts.

“Will you go out with me?” Gavin asks in a rush of words and overwhelming amounts of fondness for the android that sits across from him. And then the next moment he’s embarrassed by his forwardness. “I mean, uh, maybe not out, but I was thinking we could watch movies. I could show you all the good ones that you haven’t seen yet. Here. With me.”

Nines blinks, his LED becoming a smooth, steady blue once more. A good color. A calming color. He smiles in the next moment, and Gavin sees all hints of sadness leave his eyes and tension leave his shoulders. “That depends. What would you show me?” Nines asks, squeezing his hand.

“I dunno,” Gavin responds, trying to hold back his own grin. “I’m gonna have to get a priority list going.”

Okay, so maybe Nines isn’t as perfect as he shows on the outside. Maybe he does have his own issues and maybe they were a bit more – or a lot more – internalized than Gavin’s were. But still. It was better to be a bit fucked up together than it was to be a bit fucked up alone.

And Nines was the greatest company.

The rest of the day is spent marathoning the Terminator movies. They get a little off schedule at one point, if only because Gavin becomes much more interested in Nines’ lips as opposed to the fight scene between the T-X and the Terminator in the third movie, and they have to rewind about thirty minutes. Gavin sees and deliberately ignores his call from Fowler – he’ll listen to the voicemail later, and it’ll have much the same chastising effect.

Right now, the only place he wants to be is right where he is. On his loveseat that he always thought would be destined for one, Nines’ arm tight around his shoulders and Gavin’s ear pressed against his chest. Listening, the steady, slow mechanical hum that meant Nines was very much alive. He absentmindedly finds his hand trailing across the outside of Nines’ right thigh – no bullet holes. Just dark jeans.

Nines was fine. Gavin was fine. More than fine, really.

He hadn’t felt this happy in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from "The Only Exception" by Paramore.


End file.
